


Not Alone

by Starlithorizon



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, MJN is a family, bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a member has a bad day, you can bet the others will be there to make it brilliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a bad day all around. He'd woken up suddenly to the incessant strains of his mobile shouting, and then Carolyn very nearly shouting, telling him to be at the air field in twenty minutes, as they were flying out a very wealthy client forty-five minutes from that moment. It was with a groan and a heavy heart that he rang and cancelled a van job, one that promised to pay well. That client had raged over the line and called him some really rude names. All in all, it served to make his morning miserable.

Of course, that wasn't all.

Oh, God no.

The students before him, who were usually quite considerate of him, had used up all the hot water. This left Martin to a five-minute shower in cuttingly cold water.

Luckily, his uniform was fine, and his decrepit beast of a van started well enough. It was a very small blessing indeed because, as this was Martin Crieff, and this was clearly a morning from the fiery pits of hell, he promptly and gracefully _fell_ out of his van, thus scraping the heels of his palms, his chin, and his left knee through his trousers. It was a mercy that they were black and managed to hide the blood he could feel welling from the stinging abrasion. He did have to press his fingers to his chin to keep that from dripping onto his light blue shirt. He yanked his flight bag out of the passenger seat, put his hat on gingerly (getting blood on that would likely be the straw to break the camel camel's back), and stomped to the plane.

Arthur was in the galley, bustling about and making a racket and doing Lord-knew-what, and Martin very distinctly did _not_ want to deal with him. Carolyn was still in the Portakabin, likely looking to swindle the client even more, and Douglas had yet to show up. Of course, that meant that he had to do all of the pre-takeoff nonsense he typically loved, but today, he hated everything. Well, perhaps not G-ERTI. Perhaps never that old girl.

He didn't even notice Douglas's arrival and general settling-into-plane ritual until he had completed the stomp-around, ensuring that his plane was as fit to fly as he was. Unfortunately for all, it was. Douglas smiled sardonically at his superior as he stormed into the flight deck.

"Everything tickety-boo?" Douglas asked, raising an eyebrow.

Martin was briefly tempted to tell Douglas to shove it, to shut up, to just leave him the hell alone.

He was also tempted to just sag into his chair and tell him just how awful today had been so far and wait patiently for a comforting word or two.

Instead, he settled on sagging into his chair and muttering, "It's fine," in his FO's general direction. Douglas let it lie. Martin, in a rare fit of weary resignation at the awfulness of the day, allowed Douglas to have the take-off. This was usually Martin's favourite part, and that he was just _giving_ it to Douglas, the older man had to worry, at least a little bit.

 _Yes_ , he could do that, they _were_  friends and he was occasionally nice to friends for _its own sake._

Of course, it was difficult to be so selfless, so he figured he ought to do something a bit underhanded in order to comfort his friend. Best not to mess with the balance of everything too much, lest it decide not to balance in his favour anymore.

This client was rather like Mr Alyakhin in that he thought MJN's wine list was a joke and came complete with his own pricey bottle of Bordeaux. Also like Mr Alyakhin, this lovely red wine was promptly pilfered and replaced with something closer to grape juice that came out a box.

Stealing the wine from Carolyn was easier than it had any right to be.

When they landed in Berlin, they were fairly shocked to discover that the hotel the cab was driving to was actually almost nice. That, of course, was because Carolyn had seen the look on Martin's face and the scabs on his chin and hands and managed to connect the dots. While she was his boss, she was also his friend, and she felt like his mother half the time anyway. It was hideous, but she _cared_  about the boy, very nearly as much as she cared about Arthur.

She'd booked two rooms to cut down on the cost and ensure that the rooms at least be a bit above decent. Hopefully there would be a fluffy dressing gown to help.

To go a step further, there was a restaurant down the road with a reservation for four at seven. Seeing as it was ten minutes past five already, everyone headed to their rooms.

Martin was sharing with Douglas, as per usual. Douglas took this time to present Martin with the expensive bottle of wine.

"This usually runs at about two thousand pounds," he said when Martin stopped spluttering about thievery. "Drink it, sell it, save it, it's all the same to me."

"Wow, Douglas, I— Thank you."

"Don't mention it. And, between you and me," the first officer said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, "Mr Kloss deserved it."

The pair giggled at the client's well-deserved misfortune for a moment before they started getting ready for dinner.

Carolyn smiled like the benevolent goddess she really, truly was (in her own humble opinion) at her crew's faces upon entering the restaurant. Martin looked dazzled and halfway to contrite, Arthur beamed a bit more than usual, and Douglas looked unbearably smug.

When they were seated and looking at the menu, Douglas made sure to tell Martin to order whatever he wanted, and "If you order the baked potato no water, I will tell the waiter to bring you wine and lobster." This made Carolyn bite back a fond smile, knowing full well that it wasn't just because Douglas was paying for dinner.

After giving their orders in varying degrees of German (Carolyn, who was fluent, helped Douglas and Arthur, who were awful; Martin was a bit better than passable), Arthur presented Skip with a Toblerone. "Look, I got you the black one too, Skip, since it's your favourite! I saw you were having a bad day, and since I couldn't find any apples to toss and you haven't cracked your knuckles and the hotel probably doesn't have bubble bath, I figured that a Toblerone would be brilliant and help you feel better, so here!"

Arthur jabbed the chocolate in Martin's direction, and the Skipper took it wish a small smile and an even smaller thank-you. Arthur just beamed at his friend, pleased that he could help.

After dinner, and after spending time with Carolyn and Arthur in their room, and after talking with Douglas a bit, Martin lay in the quiet darkness in a comfortable bed. Douglas was snoring lightly in the other bed, a gentle reminder that he wasn't alone.

And that night, Martin realised properly that, as long as he was part of MJN, he really, truly was not alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Multiple chapters.  
> I wasn't expecting it either.

Douglas awoke with bleary eyes and jaw-popping yawns. He felt well and truly _old_  this morning as he stumbled out of bed and to the loo. It wasn't until he caught sight of his face as he brushed his teeth that he realised that, damn it all, he _was_ old. His face was lined and haggard, still puffy with sleep. The black that had once dominated his hair was rapidly being taken over by grey. And that paunch that, if he was being truly honest, was closer to a jolly grandpa belly than he liked.

Yes, Douglas Richardson was getting old.

This was the start to a bad day.

His bad days didn't manifest themselves as snowballs of clumsiness and cold showers and rainy days. Externally, everything looked fine, business as usual. Internally, however, was a swirling darkness that tinged each and every thought with its poison.

By the time he made it to the air field, he was feeling jaded and bitter and more than ready to snap at anyone who said anything at all. He spoke with his usual smooth cadence, cracked jokes at his crew's expense, and was as lazy as he could be as FO.

Carolyn was first to notice the sharpness to Douglas's eyes that morning. Arthur had crowed about his brilliance for saving the day (already), and she hadn't missed the way his eyes tightened. He looked pained by her son's glee. That Douglas didnt immediately preen under Arthur's praise was troubling, and that she found it troubling was troubling. She hated to admit it, but after years and years of flying with the old Sky God, they were friends.

As his friend, Carolyn racked her brain for a way to make the poor felow's day better. This was a bit tricky, as the usual things had made his day worse. Having Duglas save the day seemed like a good idea, but Arthur's hero worship had cut through the first officer and made Carolyn want to curl into a sympathetic wound for him.

She just had to be clever, and since she was who she was, that part was done.

The other parts all fell into place perfectly well, though, so she spent the rest of the flight to Egypt feeling quite good about herself and her plan.

Arthur was more perceptive than he ever got credit for, but that was fine. It felt like a secret superpower, and that was brilliant. Being the perceptive individual that he was, Arthur had seen how his words had affected Douglas, so he'd immediately shut up. It was strange that his praise hadn't made Douglas feel better as he's expected. Instead, Douglas had looked distressingly close to snapping at Arthur and calling him a liar, even if it was the truth.

Douglas didn't like Toblerone enough for it to help his bad day, but Arthur knew that Douglas had a special secret favourite chocolate that he rarely indulged in. That was because, as a "man of refined taste," Reese's Peanut Butter Cups weren't exactly par for the course. They were like a guilty pleasure, and he couldn't resist if Arthur gave them to him!

Martin, who had spent years and years quitting beside Douglas, had gotten quite adept at reading him. While Douglas was usually a bit more like, say, _Don Quixote_ , than a picture book, he couldn't always hide from Martin. That was for the better today, since Martin could quite clearly see the bitter pull to Douglas's mouth, and that look in his eyes that was so familiar to Martin. After all, he saw it in the mirror almost every day.

Martin wasn't at all a stranger to self-loathing. In fact, they'd gotten to be quite close, and the cruel feeling was practically radiating from the older man. Martin wanted to tell Douglas at he was amazing and wonderful and great and that he was so lucky to be able to call him friend. He wished that he could take that darkness and replace it with light, as the crew of MJN was so able to do. But he could tell that Douglas would just shake any adulations off. Martin could see it in the line of the FO's shoulders.

He and Carolyn had a brief talk in the cabin about that night's sleeping arrangements, just to make sure that it was as usual.

He didn't want Douglas to be alone.

Once they landed in Cairo and traveled to the hotel, it was quite clear to everyone but Douglas that they were all doing their best to help. Together they wove the net that they were ready to catch Douglas with as he fell.

The hotel was almost luxurious, clearly paid for with the exorbitant fee paid by today's passengers. There was gilding and marble and crystals hanging from the chandeliers. Douglas caught sight of himself in a mirror with a golden frame, the physical reminders of his age nearly washed away in the glittering light of the lobby. He almost looked dashing in his uniform.

They had just a moment to change before going out to dinner. They had sushi at a restaurant near the hotel, and Douglas found himself encouraging Martin and Arthur tossing shelled edamame into each other's mouths. Carolyn grumbled and complained about the children, but she was smiling and that ignited a warm feeling in his chest at seeing this matriarch of their family looking so indulgent beneath the sternness.

Arthur gave Douglas the Reese's cups, and he was secretly touched that Arthur knew they were his favourite. He never got them for himself, looking to maintain some ridiculous image, but there was the steward, pressing the orange wrapper into his hand. There was no mention of Douglas's brilliance, or of the bad day, or anything. Just a simple explanation consisting of, "I got everyone candy today to celebrate Gerti's birthday, and I knew that you liked these the best, so I got them for you, since you never get them for yourself, and you ought to treat yourself sometimes, so here."

Douglas thanked Arthur in his normal voice, and it actually felt so much closer to normal than before. Back at their hotel room, which was basically a cupboard with two (very comfortable) beds and an attached bathroom, Martin and Douglas did as they did best: they talked to each other around word games. Martin asked about his daughter, Hannah, and Douglas found it easy to open up about her. He also found that talking about her made him feel better.

That night, as Martin slept peacefully a few feet away, Douglas smiled to himself as the bad thoughts frayed completely and unraveled. He'd known it for quite a while, but it had never been so clear until now that, because of his adopted family, he was not alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Carolyn woke slowly and lazily, a small smile on her lips. This early in the morning, it was fine to be caught unawares with an actual smile; she could blame it on the hour. The smile fell instantly, though, when she felt the coldness of the sheets beside her. With a groan, she rolled over and remembered that Herc had left much earlier that morning for a job.

That was the start of the bad day.

It wasn't long after that, probably no more than a couple of minutes, before the fire alarm went off. It screeched at her, causing her to grumble and sigh and curse her son, who was undoubtedly in the kitchen setting breakfast aflame. This happened at least three times a week, and while it was incredibly annoying on its own, it was infuriating today.

"Idiot boy," she snapped, wrenching the fire extinguisher from its place beside the refrigerator. Arthur winced but didn't say anything.

He cleaned up the mess while she stalked back upstairs to get ready for the day. Today had a full passenger load, a stag do no less. She could only imagine how many of the idiots would make it to Rome alive this time.

Of course, Douglas was late and Martin was a tittery mess (he always was when doing the weight calculations) and Arthur insisted on humming some moronic pop song that grated on the nerves. Her coffee was much too strong and there was no milk to be had, so she was left drinking a black froth of bitter sugar.

Finally, it was time to board the idiots, and she spontaneously found herself missing Herc. It was the soppy look on the groom-to-be's face, the one that said he was pleasantly shocked that he was getting married in a few days. She wanted to see Herc with that look.

She wanted to say yes.

A surge of self-inflicted fury washed through her at the thought. She wanted to say yes, but she didn't want to risk getting married to someone who might wake up one day and realise he didn't love her again. She also didn't want to risk marrying another Gordon. She was afraid, and she was a bloody idiot for it.

She slumped into her seat into the galley after making sure all the passengers were settled, closed her eyes, and waited for sleep.

Arthur, having lived with her for his entire life, instantly knew that his mum was having a bad day. She teased him a lot, but never in that angry tone she'd used that morning. If she did, she apologized immediately and kissed him on the head. She only snapped like that when she was having a bad day, and she was today. He knew by now that these days almost always coincided with the days when Herc was gone. Rather than miss him, and maybe pine a little, Mum got sharp and thorny and sad.

The steward racked his brain for a solution. He couldn't book a nice hotel or nick a bottle of wine for her. He couldn't pay for a fancy dinner or do anything, really. Candy wouldn't be the nice treat for her it was for the others. And then it hit him.

He told her that he could take care of the passengers if she could take care of preparing the drinks and all that. It was a blessing, to not have to deal with them all the way to Rome, and eventually they'd be so drunk that not even Arthur could ruin their flight. It was, in all honesty, perfect.

Martin noticed it in the airport. She had a grim twist to her mouth and she sort of stomped instead of walked. He knew that she hadn't done much at all with the stag party, that the airport hadn't charged much at all, and that the accommodations for the night would be that dreadful ( _cheap_ ) hotel they always stayed at. So since it wasn't any of the above, it had to just be the average, typical bad day.

He kept Arthur in a quiet and distracting conversation during the whole taxi ride; he didn't notice a single yellow car, and (perhaps the most important of all), he was quite quiet the whole time.

Douglas, of course, had noticed right away. One doesn't fly with Carolyn Knapp-Shappey for over a decade and not notice the signs of a bad day. Being the sneaky sort of fellow he was, he whispered to Martin and Arthur and got everyone to agree.

She was surprised when all three of her crew went into the room on the left. Douglas said that perhaps she'd like her own room that night, smiled benevolently, and bid her good night.

Almost the second she closed the door, Herc rang. They talked for hours and hours and she felt all of the bad melt away. It left her light and empty and content, which was probably why she said yes to him. It was over the phone and two weeks after the fact, and could Carolyn really agree to marry Herc in any other way?

She fell asleep peacefully, smiling a bit, knowing that as long as Hercules Shipwright loved her, she was not alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur woke up in the same sort of mood he always woke in. Unlike most people, Arthur almost always woke up on the cheery side of the bed. Those other days were just ordinary days where he simply woke up in the middle. He never woke up to a bad day for the universe, which was a bit distressing. After all, if he didn't wake up to it, there was no way of knowing what sort of day it would be.

Sometimes, making funny faces in the mirror and insisting upon the upcoming day's brilliance couldn't counteract the bad things. Spells don't always break the curse.

It was as he was taking his shower that it hit. Showers are great places to think. The rush of water lends the same sort of clarity that four-in-the-morning-and-trying-to-sleep has, and this shower was no different. It just so happened that his thoughts decided to take a slightly less cheerful path than usual.

See, his father had called shortly after Arthur had woken up. He began by being nice, laying it the prize for Arthur to take, and then turned into a vicious monster out to draw blood, snatching that prize away. He slashed at his son, probably trying to takeout a bad day of his own on someone else. Those things he said were the things he had _always_ said, and they rang through his memories like screeching metal. It left a dull, aching misery in the centre of his body that continued to grow and take over as he thought.

 _Failure_ , his dad had said to the grown man still living with his mother. _Imbecile_ , to the man easily outsmarted by a microwaveable meal. They seemed to settle into his bones and weigh him down.

As Martin was the first in the Portakabin (he was always first in the Portakabin), he was the first to properly notice the way Arthur's shoulders and smile both sagged. There was something to the edges of his eyes that suggested a great weariness that even a full night's sleep couldn't cure. God, to see Arthur, cheerful and sunny and ineffable _Arthur_ looking so downtrodden was heartbreaking. Martin abandoned his logbooks in favour of comforting his friend.

"Arthur, would you like some tea?" Martin asked quietly. Arthur looked up at him, eyes a bit vacant and confused. Martin had broken through his thoughts and surprised him.

"Oh, no, it's all right, Skipper," he said slowly. "I can do it."

Martin let Arthur make the tea then made certain to compliment it, and Arthur. He never said much about Arthur's competence, and it made him feel a bit awful.

He carefully wrapped both arms around the steward in a hug and then smiled when it was returned.

Douglas noticed as they were getting ready to board the plane. Arthur sort of trudged a bit, looking for all the world like a man trapped in molasses. That was nothing compared to the lack of shimmering brilliance that usually accompanied the man. He seemed dull and aching, even with the smile.

As Douglas was a clever man who planned for anything that might arise, he always had a Toblerone in his flight bag. They proved useful when Arthur waxed too rhapsodic about something, but today, it would be a balm to an internal wound. He gave Arthur the candy and was treated to a flicker of light.

"Thanks, Douglas," Arthur said, voice still a bit too quiet. Douglas smiled and laid a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"You've earned it."

He left before Arthur could ask what he'd done. Best to leave that as it was.

Since Carolyn was his mother and had spent really an ungodly amount of time with the boy, she knew that today was a bad one from the very start. She had kept her mouth shut on the ride to the air field and let the pilots help mend her child's broken brilliance. She also knew that Gordon, the rat, had called Arthur that morning. She'd overheard the slow shift from anxiously excited to tremendously dejected as the conversation progressed, and she desperately hoped that he was eaten alive by a rabid kangaroo or some such.

She didn't really get the chance to do anything until they were midway over the Atlantic Ocean. It was a cargo trip, so Arthur was only serving the crew. He spent most of the time sitting in the galley with a comic book he and a distantly sad expression. Gently, Carolyn slid the comic from his grasp. He hadn't been reading anyway.

"I want you to be well aware that whatever your father says is wrong," she said sternly, casting her words in iron so that they would stand the test of time. Also, to prevent anyone who might overhear from thinking that she was soft.

"I don't know, Mum," Arthur mumbled. He looked so sad, and this made Carolyn stumble. She knelt down in front of her son, hoping that the words would stick. This was a familiar situation, and the words always remained until Gordon knocked them down. This cycle had been going almost all of Arthur's life.

"You are living a good life. You have a home, and people who love you who you see every day. You brighten our days, even when they're positively thunderous. You are more clever than I think even you know. You're kind and brave and sweet. You're my boy, and that alone means that you are perfect."

She stood up, slowly, and pressed a kiss to the top of Arthur's head before leaving him.

He sat there for a moment, still absorbing the words like a plant absorbed sunlight. It nourished him and made him grow. It kept him _alive_. Sometimes, passengers who didn't understand him said the same things that his dad said, but that didn't mean that his father was right. It meant that the passengers were wrong as well.

He knew, absolutely and completely and forever, that as long as he had this kind and loving little patchwork family to call his own, he was not alone.


End file.
